


Seven

by notjustmom



Series: Mirrors [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 09:32:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11272758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom





	Seven

"Ahhhhhhhchooooo!" Sherlock blew his nose again as he stared at the evidence on the wall. "I'm fine."

"Didn't say a word." John muttered from his chair as he skipped to the last few pages of his well - read but never finished spy novel.

"You were thinking something." Sherlock growled hoarsely at him.

"I was thinking we are almost out of milk and down to our last teabag." John sighed as he laid the book down, knowing he wasn't going to read another page that night.

"And?" Sherlock sniffed as he pinned another photo to the collage on the wall. He couldn't make heads or tails of it any longer. Whatever ideas he had were long gone, and he'd been awake for -

"Four days. After you took that plunge in the fountain. No clue is worth drowning for. No clue is more important than you."

"I almost had him, John. I would've had him - ahhhhhhhchoooooooo!"

"He had almost 13 centimetres and over 20 kilos on you, you're lucky he didn't do more than throw you in the fountain."

"He didn't throw me." Sherlock sniffed as petulantly as he could.

John snorted and Sherlock turned around slowly. "He picked you up in his arms and tossed you in the damn founta-" John stopped when he saw how miserable Sherlock looked. His nose was bright red from all of the blowing and rubbing; his normal pale complexion was even paler than usual and his normally bright, clear eyes had that ill look to them. "Damn. I'm sorry." He got up and walked over to where Sherlock was now studying a worn spot on the old carpet. "Sherlock. Let me take care of you, please?"

Sherlock shook his head and turned back towards the wall. "Not til I finish this - whatever it is." He waved at the mess on the wall before he began to crumple to the carpet. John took a couple of steps and caught him in his arms, then guided them both to the couch.

"John?" Sherlock whispered after a few minutes.

"Yeah, I'm here. I'm sorry I let you go so long. I should've made you go to bed when we got home." John looked down into Sherlock's eyes and saw his own image misshapen and bloodshot reflecting back at him.

Sherlock grimaced then tried to laugh, but he coughed instead.

"I know, I can't make you do anything you don't choose to do, you stubborn arse, but I was pissed at you -"

"For running ahead again." Sherlock sighed into John's chest and closed his eyes.

"We're partners, Sherlock - if you go off on your own, don't answer your texts, I can't help you, I can't -"

"Rescue me?" Sherlock smiled in spite of how miserable he felt.

"Yes. Sometimes. I do have to rescue you when you do something idiotic. And this time - I almost didn't get there in time - if he had made another choice - he had a gun, Sherlock -"

"It wasn't real -"

"Not the point, and you know it."

"No, I know. You're right. I'm sorry."

John opened his mouth, then shut it again. 

"I'm not saying it again."

"Oh come on. Just one more time?" 

"You're right. I am very sorry."

"Now I know you're sick. Bed. Now."

Sherlock sat up and groaned. "I don't think I can walk -"

John rolled his eyes, but stood up and gazed down at Sherlock, who for the first time since he had known him, seemed smaller and all too human. He sighed, but helped him to his feet and then into his arms. "You know, you really should eat more."

"You're gonna make me?" Sherlock murmured.

"Is that your way of asking if I'm staying?"

Sherlock shrugged but after a moment, nodded in John's arms.

"Where else could I be? Why do you think I'm here?"

"Because I'm never boring?"

John stopped as he entered their bedroom and sighed. "No, you idiot. I stay because I love you." He bit his lip then whispered. "Damn. I didn't mean to tell you -"

Sherlock opened his eyes and waited.

"No - not what I meant. I didn't mean to tell you now, I wanted to wait to tell you - I've never told anyone that before, and it feels like I should be telling you over dinner at Angelo's with a table full of candles, not when you might not remember because you feel -"

"Like death warmed over?" Sherlock closed his eyes again and coughed.

"Yeah. Hell. Come on, let's get you into bed?"

"Thought you'd never ask."

John sat Sherlock on the edge of their bed gently and undressed him, then helped him to lay down. "Sleep. We're just going to sleep tonight. Understand?" He slipped out of his clothes and turned around to see Sherlock already fast asleep. He slid under the covers and wrapped himself around Sherlock's feverish body and whispered to the dark. "I do love you, you idiot."

Sherlock muttered into his shoulder. "I know."


End file.
